From Fen, From Wild Moor, Glen, and Valley Broad
by macadoodle1996
Summary: Take away the legend. Take away the magic. Take away the history, the reputation, bad, brave, intelligent, good. And what are you left with? People. Forget the Founders you thought you knew. Meet the people behind the legend-Sal, Ric, Ro, and Heggy.
1. Chapter 1

Take away the legend. Take away the magic. Take away the history, the reputation, bad, brave, intelligent, good. And what are you left with?

People.

Four people, to be exact.

One, a boy from fen, with the fires of hatred burning through his past longing to be able to live in peace and security. Two, a boy from a line of great warriors, terrified of disappointing his great name with cowardice. Three, a young lady of noble birth, the weight of expectation on her shoulders holding her back from living with her head in the clouds. And four, a girl able to so feel the pain of the world that she is able to not hate, but instead love even the unloveable.

These were the Founders Four. They all grew to share the same dream; to save and protect the future of the noble art of wizardry from the forces that sought to snuff it out, that witches and wizards may one day live in the light of the sun with no fear. Yet, that goal was never quite achieved. For while four agreed that something ought be done, each thought that their own way, and only their own way, was the how of what ought be done. So one would leave, and four would fracture, never to be the same again.

These were the Founders Four. This is their story.


	2. Chapter 2

Salazar from fen. Or Sal, as he was affectionately known by his loving, gracious, magical mother and hero-worshipping younger brother. Or "boy" as he was not-so-affectionately known by his harsh, cold, and utterly normal father.

His father, quite obviously, did not know of his sons' or wife's magic. Though his mother insisted that there had once been love between her and her husband, that love no longer seemed to exist. Indeed, Abelard Slytherin seemed to only keep his wife around because she was a Princess, daughter of a Prince, of what used to be a fierce enemy. As such, there had never been so much as a rumor of witchcraft surrounding the Princess Slendora. To have been suspicious of royalty… Well, one may as well had declared war.

Besides, the only person who had known of Splendora's magical heritage had been her nursemaid, a kindly old Druid woman named Agatha, who had taught the young Princess how to hide her powers.

"Hide your true self—but do not forget that you are truly powerful," the nurse had told her. She later told the same to her young sons.

While his younger brother, Selenus, had nodded sagely, Sal had been confused.

"But why, Mama?" the young boy questioned. "Is not power something to be proud of?"

"Of course it is, m'dear," she had said. "But 'tis not always prudent to make it known. The people with the most power are those who know when to show it."

Of the two boys, Selenus was far more favoured by their father. The younger boy was far better with the sword and was broad enough to easily command respect from his future army. And while Salazar had the silver tongue that would make such an army irrelevant, Abelard did not see this, being too war-hungry. He saw only his younger, stronger son, and resented Salazar and his mother that the weaker had been born first, thus making him heir.

But, at night, under the cover of the moon and stars, it was Sal who had the upper hand as their mother taught the boys how to brew a potion, or change one object into another, or control the wind with the flick of a wrist. While working under the heat of the sun, being knocked about by the swords of his father and brother, Sal felt powerless and longed for the cool of the moon, when he felt as though he were the most powerful being in the world. His mother was always astonished with his progress.

"One day you may yet outmatch Hecate!" she would say. And then, to comfort his younger brother, she would add, "and you may yet outmatch Charlemagne. With such strong sons, I shall never have to live in fear a day in my life.

Unfortunately, this would not be true.

The lessons that Salazar enjoyed most of all, however, took place in the forests during the summer months—and were such that his brother could not participate in, for he had not the gift that Sal and their mother had. So, on very special nights, Sal and his mother would simply sit in the lightly cooled forest under the moonlight until they were suddenly surrounded by them.

Serpents.

Sal could sit all night listening to the small creatures' talk of hunting and freedom and lying about in the sun, and longed to run off and do the same as his slithering friend. But, without fail, in the darkest hours of the night, just before morning, his mother would bundle him back inside of their home and into his bed.

"Your father must not know," she would tell both boys after each lesson. Both would nod their heads, taking their mother's words deep to heart.

Those were the good days.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to those who have read so far. In case you haven't caught on, I am not JKR (I wish) so anything you recognize is not mine. This story will be told through each of the Founders POV at some point or another, and I will be careful to note which Founder is speaker. But, for now, here is another chapter from Salazar's POV.**

 **Please read and review!**

In Sal's tenth summer, Selenus' ninth, the plague struck. Nearly a third of their father's village was wiped out when their father began to nearly go insane with fear. He began to blame what the rest of Briton was also fearing.

Witchcraft.

"Please, don't be ridiculous, Abelard," Splendora would beg. "'Tis but a sickness—a horrid one—but a sickness nonetheless. Don't go seeking superstition. I am sure it couldn't be anything else."

"The sureties of a woman is second in uselessness only to your firstborn."

"Salazar is intelligent and so very—"

"The boy is weak," Abelard hissed. Salazar shrunk into the wall, red-faced, as Selenus stared at him. "If only the sickness would take him and my proper heir would be able to inherit these lands, if there is anything left by the time he is of age if these witches are not stopped!"

"Abelard, you are—"

Salazar did not truly begin to fear his fate until one day, his little brother began to cough violently, and by the end of the day was confined to his bed. Then, the burnings began.

Because of their power, Splendora seemed certain (even if Abelard was not).

"You must never practice magic again, my son," she told Selenus one day as he began to recover. "And you must run, Sal. Run and never look back."

Sal didn't listen. He hid in the bowels of the castle instead. The next morning, he watched as his father's advisors began to set up a pyre. Someone had seen Splendora and Salazar deep in the forest, surrounded by serpents, the so-called creature of the devil. And now, with her home country decimated and unable to go to war, would be the most opportune time to get rid of her and her older, supposedly weaker son. Only the son was nowhere to be found.

He stayed in the shadows.

He stayed in the shadows as his mother's was tied to the stake in the middle. He stayed in the shadows as the kindling around her was lit, as the flames licked higher and higher towards her. He stayed in the shadows, heart pounding out of his chest, aching to run to her as she gave her first heartwrenching scream and as she gave her last. He stayed in the shadows until the last of the mob had left and the pyre was no more than cooling ash. Sal very carefully made his way toward the pile of ash that had been his mother. Something glittered in the dying sun.

Very carefully, so as to not disturb anything, Sal picked up a large, egg-shaped locket on a thick chain. It had a Serpentine "S" on it for Splendora. His mother's name. Sal watched as one fat tear, sparkling like a jewel fell upon the locket. He quickly wiped the tear off, making the locket shiny again. For a brief moment, he looked up at the tower where he knew his little brother was still.

"Stay safe, brother mine," he murmured. Then he stood and slipped back into the shadows, quickly making his way to the woods where his friends, the snakes, did live.

It was that day that Sal finally absorbed a lesson from his father. And that lesson was hate.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N-Thank you to my anonymous reviewer! Here is the next chapter, which is quite a bit longer than my previous two. Don't expect regularity on the length, as the story for the most part is a series of one-shots that are linked together into a cohesive whole.** **Any who, now we hear from Gryffindor. Hope you enjoy! Please read and review!** **Godric**

Godric from wild moor. Otherwise known as Ric to those he considered friends, and Sir Gryffindor to all else. His mother had been a well-known healer, Muggles and Gifted alike receiving care from her gentle hands. His father, a great knight in one of the few magic-friendly kingdoms left—Camelot. Shortly after the birth of Godric, his mother passed gently into the night, unable to heal herself, leaving his father to teach him the ways of war, with both wand and sword.

"But why must I learn the sword, Pop?" young Ric would ask. "Surely my wand will keep me safe!"

"Against the Gifted, yea, that is true," Druart would say in his deep, rumbling voice. "But not against the Muggles."

"Why not? Will magic not work on them?" Ric would ask, utterly confused. His father laughed.

"Of course magic will work on Muggles—how else would our Healers be able to help them?" Druart would say. "Nay, 'tis the height of dishonour to strike an unarmed opponent, and so it would be if you were to try to use magic against a Muggle. That is why you must learn to use the sword. Besides," Druart added with a wink, "both Muggle and Gifted ladies love a man with a sword."

And so Ric took his father's lessons on honor (and on love) to heart. He never once rose a wand against a Muggle, often instead protecting the non-magical with his wand against the more nefarious Gift-users. And wherever he went, he carried the sword that his father had given him for his tenth birthday—a goblin-made blade beset with the red jewels of the House of Gryffindor—causing ladies, magical and non-magical alike, to fawn over him. Throughout the land, he had gained a reputation for being a valiant warrior, a superb dueller, and a favorite of women, all by the time he was sixteen.

It was at that time that a darkness came over the land. A plague had come to the land, killing the Muggle and leaving the Gifted scarred for life. The Muggles were fearful, and that fearfulness turned into resentment towards the Gifted. And all over, there were burnings and hangings of Gifted and Muggle alike, as people tried to suss out those who were different than themselves. Ric grew restless, desiring to be out there, helping the helpless get to safety. He felt like a coward just sitting inside of Camelot's walls doing nothing.

So one day when Ric's father was distracted with a dispute on the edge of their family lands, Ric sought an audience with the king, Asher Pendragon.

"My lord king," Ric said in a voice that sounded far more confident than he actually felt.

"Godric, son of Sir Druart Gryffindor and Healer Hildegard Prewett, rise," the king said. Ric stood slowly, taking in the blonde man in front of him, nearly the same age as his father, with many visible battle scars, likely with even more hidden beneath his finery. The man had strange blue-ish eyes, almost purple in appearance. "What is it that you bring before me, young man?"

"I seek your permission to help my Gifted brethren," Ric said. "As you know, sire, plague has swept the isles of Briton, and has struck fear into the hearts of men. My Gifted brethren and innocent Muggles alike are being hunted down, and I wish to come to their aid."

"Have they been hunted in Camelot?" the king said, stroking his beard.

"No, sire," Ric replied.

"Then why is it any concern of mine? I am charged to defend the people of my kingdom, not the world."

"The code of honor demands we defend the helpless!" Ric nearly shouted. "We have the means to keep innocents out of the fires, we ought use them! Otherwise you are no man of honor, you are nothing more than a coward!"

The guards surrounding the king immediately drew their swords, seemingly ready to skewer Ric. On an instinct honed by nearly half a decade fighting, Ric drew his own sword (but not his wand, never his wand against hapless Muggles), more than ready to fight to his death if that was what fate had in store. Ric stood tall and proud, half a dozen swords at his throat.

"You remember who I am, boy?" the king said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Of course I do, you are the king," Ric said in as calm a voice as he could manage. "I once believed you to be the bravest man to have walked this earth, but it is possible that I may have been mistaken."

The king slowly stalked toward Ric, waving the guards away, his face close enough to smell the garlic on his breath. "You dare test me, boy?" the king hissed.

"I dare to stand for the helpless and the code of honor," Ric replied, refusing to back down.

Suddenly, the king backhanded Ric, the metal gauntlets leaving a deep cut on his face. Though Ric stumbled slightly, he remained standing tall.

"Go," the king said. "Take your father and do as you must. And if you dare speak this way in my presence again, be not mistaken, you will die."

When Druart came back to their manor home, he first railed at Ric for being so reckless as to disrespect a king in front of all his courtiers. Then, when he noticed the cut on his son's face, he grew still, looking at his son in utter horror.

"What is it, Pop?"

"Your… your face," he murmured.

"'Tis but a scratch, I've had far worse you know," Ric replied offhandedly. "Besides, if all I have is a scratch in order to follow the code of honor and help the helpless, then I will have done well."

Then, Ric saw his father do something he had never seen his father do before.

His father wept.

"I am so proud of you," he kept saying over and over again as he held his son close. "I am so proud of you, my son."


	5. Chapter 5

**Salazar**

Salazar spent many years evading capture from the men his father sent after him with the help of his friends, the serpents. The little snakes called him 'Master Speaker', despite his insistence that they were his equals, and helped him find food and shelter, warned him of trackers and hunters as they came through the woods, and even spied on the castle for him. It was the snakes that told him of his brother's continued existence, and of his apparent fall from grace in their father's eyes. After all, who could possibly survive the plague but a witch? Sal feared for Selenus, but Abelard Slytherin had no other heirs. He couldn't afford to have his younger son tried for treason.

But, for all that his serpents were able to inform and protect him from, they could not save him from humanity's oldest foe: illness.

Salazar spent long days on the floor of the forest fading in and out of consciousness in the summer of his thirteenth year. His friends slithered around him, drawn to and worried by the heat of his fever, trying to comfort the pained lad the best they knew how.

 _"_ _Masssster isss ssso hot…."_

 _"…_ _.ssssssoon join the ssssoil…."_

 _"…_ _..help we musssst…."_

 _"_ _Not ssspeakersss coming….. NOT SSSSPEAKERSSS COMING!"_

That fervent cry broke through Salazar's feverish haze. Thoughts of his harsh father and his even harsher flame shot through Salazar's mind, waking him more fully. He thrashed about, struggling to get standing, to run, to hide. His friends tried to pull him back to the ground, insisting that any movement or struggle would only hasten his descent into the dirt. But, with thoughts of fire occupying his mind, he was unable to entertain thoughts of illness. So, he threw the serpents who had been so kind off of him and began to run as hard and fast as his weakened and scrawny body would aloe. He heard shouting and then someone like a great bear crashing through the undergrowth after him. But, his strength soon gave way and he stumbled, falling down… down…

"I've found it, pop! It's a… boy," a voice, sounding just shy of manhood itself, called out.

 _"_ _Sssstay back! Come no clossser_ ," Salazar hissed, unaware that he was still using the serpentine tongue he had become so used to over the last few years. He'd be hard pressed to even remember how to use the human tongue now.

"It is alright, little one," said the man-boy with hair so like the flames that Salazar feared. "I will not hurt you, I swear upon mine honor."

 _"_ _Sssstay back_ ," Salazar hissed again, and with a mighty shove that did not actually touch the man-boy, he sent the other flying into the undergrowth. The man-boy uttered a few choice curses that would have impressed Salazar once upon a time, when things were still the good days…

The man-boy grunted and stood again, staying further back from the now proven dangerous boy. But, Salazar's vision began to swim; the exertion of using his Gift had been too much for his illness-stricken body and he felt his knees give way from below him. As though from great distance, he only just heard the man-boy shouting excitedly.

"Pop! Pop! He is one of us! I think he has—"

And then everything faded to black.


End file.
